


Weeds In The Burning Sand

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Australia, Being a Junker is not a great way to live, F/F, Mech Fights, MekaMechanic, Post-Apocalypse, Scrapyard, junker au, junkertown - Freeform, struggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Hana Song grew up on the streets of Junkertown, finding ways to survive in one of the harshest places on Earth.Brigitte Lindholm didn't plan to end up with the Junkers, but she's made the best of it after an unspeakable tragedy.Even in the Outback weeds can find a way to grow, but that doesn't mean it's easy.





	1. A Weed Is A Plant That Has Mastered Every Survival Skill.

A fist slammed into Hana’s jaw, and she tasted dirt, leather, and rust.

The coppery tang of her own blood was thick on her tongue, and her vision swam as she stumbled back, trying to get her bearings.

“Queen wants her rent, little girl,” the enforcer rasped as he took a step forward, cutting her off from the rest of the alley that lead from the Arena hangars to the rest of Junkertown. “If y’ can’t pay in gold, you get to pay in bruises.”

Hana shook her head, straightening up as tall as she could, and spat a stream of spit and blood into the scrubby ground. “Rent’s not due until after the next Scrapper! How am I supposed to pay if I can’t get a chance to win a purse?”

“Due date’s changed,” the enforcer smirked. “But the Queen might be willin’ to buy that piece a’ shit you call a mech if you can’t come up with it.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Hana snarled as her hand drifted down towards the pistol on her hip, but the sound of something heavy hitting the ground at the mouth of the alley cut off the rest of her answer.

“Here’s your ‘rent’,” a third voice said acidly. “Now go tell the Queen to stop screwing with my jockey!”

The enforcer turned slowly, and Hana slumped a bit in relief as she caught a flash of deep reddish-brown hair beneath a brighter red cap.

Brigitte had a massive torque wrench up on her shoulder, her feet set as she glared at the bruiser who had come to collect for the Junker Queen.

“Better all be here,” the enforcer growled. “Queen might just come herself if it’s not.”

Brigitte’s eyes narrowed. “Then we can talk about why you were stupid enough to try stealing from her.”

The enforcer gave a growl as he knelt down to scoop up the bag, then turned back to give Hana one last glare. “Guess you get off easy this time, brat.”

Hana took a step forward as her hands knotted into fists, but before she could say more, Brigitte was stomping into the bruiser’s face, brandishing the wrench at him.

“Queen’s got her money, so fuck off out of here before I see if this wrench can take off _your_ nuts!”

The enforcer went a little pale, but he put a pretty solid shoulder check into her as he made his way out of the alley, making Brigitte give a little grunt as she shifted out of his way.

Hana waited to make sure he’d gone, then pushed her goggles up into her hair. “Where’d you get enough money to clear rent? I thought we were almost tapped out?”

Brigitte shuffled her feet as she put the wrench back on her toolbelt. “We were. Mostly. But I saw him coming after you.”

Hana put a hand on Brigitte’s bare shoulder. “So where’d you get the cash?”

Brigitte grimaced. “That...might have been our repair budget.”

_“What?!”_ Hana’s voice jumped an octave as she gestured back to the hangar. “But the drivetrain - you said we needed new gearing!”

“We do,” Brigitte admitted with a sigh. “And your boosters need an overhaul, but none of that would matter if the Queen or her goons had broken your legs.”

“I guess,” Hana admitted reluctantly. “So what _are_ we going to do?”

Brigitte hummed as she started walking, gently steering her back towards their apartment. “Well, if we can’t buy the parts, we’ll just have to get them some other way.”

Hana gave her engineer a skeptical look. “Like what, exactly?”

“Hana,” Brigitte reminded her as they rounded a corner and began to climb the stairs that lead to the upper levels, “we’re in _Junkertown!_ Scrap all over the place, and plenty of stuff left over from the old omnium we might be able to use.”

Hana snorted as she walked towards the rundown section of the old Omnium that had been converted into apartments. “Sure, if it doesn’t make us glow in the dark.”

“That’s what rad pills are for,” Brigitte informed her with a breezy grin. “Anyway. We’ll just figure out what we need, maybe see if we can barter a few things, and everything else…” She shrugged. “We make it, or we _take_ it.”

“OK,” Hana admitted as she opened the door. “Hearing you talk like that is pretty hot.”

“This place gets under your skin after a while,” Brigitte admitted with a grimace as she shut the door behind them. “But I guess that’s how it works out here.”

“Yeah,” Hana agreed with a sigh, “it is.” She pulled off her gloves and goggles, dropping them on the floor next to their makeshift couch. “Think the solar panels charged the tablet up?”

“Plenty of sun today,” Brigitte said as she started to pull off the reinforced gauntlet that covered her arm. “Give it a try.”

The tablet had been a pretty high end model once, back before the Outback got scorched. The screen had been cracked by something pretty badly, but Brigitte had found a replacement screen that almost fit the frame, and bodged together a bit of plastic and metal to protect the insides, while the battery had been replaced with a cell that charged off their rooftop solar grid.

Internet signal wasn’t great unless you were in the top levels of the Dome or one of the Queen’s favorites who got a hardline, but they’d managed to bash together an aerial that picked up enough for her to get online and watch people streaming games or catch a few shows.

She really liked the streamers. It was fun to watch them playing games and talking to their audience.

She’d become a big fan of D.Mon, sometimes even getting lucky enough to watch her livestreaming as she went out and fought the gwishin omnics, cheering along with the others in the chat as the pilot scrapped the bots alongside her team.

If things had been different, Hana could almost imagine herself with them. She thought her parents were from Korea, originally, but she’d barely known them before...

Hana shook her head, banishing the daydream. That wasn’t what happened, and it wasn’t who she was. She wasn’t some glitzy vid star, living in the lap of luxury and getting free stuff just for existing. She was rust and dirt and junk to the bone, and she had the scars to prove it.

Besides, if things had been different she might never have met Bri, and that would mean she’d have missed out on the best thing in her life.

Brigitte didn’t talk much about her past, but she’d told her once that her father used to work on the BIG bots. Titan class constructors and even crazier stuff, like the city busting warbots. He’d come to Australia for something years ago and brought his family, but Brigitte wouldn’t talk about what happened next.

All Hana knew was that _something_ had gone horribly wrong, and Brigitte had found herself wandering the wastelands for a while until a junker convoy had brought her in. She’d impressed the Queen with her mechanical skills enough to be put to work in the Scrapyard, and it wasn’t long before she’d seen Hana working on her mech in the pits, and their friendship had begun with a yelling match that nearly came to blows over the quality of her welds.

Hana still wasn’t quite sure how a gutter rat who’d lived most of her life on the street had been lucky enough to turn Bri’s head, or how they’d grown from good friends into something more, but she wasn’t going to complain about her luck.

A rattle of buckles made Hana look up from the brightly colored gaming stream just in time to see Brigitte pull off her tool belt and welding apron with a sigh of relief, revealing the sweat soaked tank top she’d had on beneath.

“We got enough water credits for a shower? I can _smell_ me.”

Hana thought about it, then nodded. “Should, unless the Queen cut those, too.”

Brigitte shook her head as she pulled off her cap, letting the rest of her hair fall down her back. “Let’s not give her any ideas.”

“Speaking of ideas…” Hana grinned lazily as she put the tablet back on the charger. “Might be more efficient if we showered together.”

“Only if we don’t take twice as long,” Brigitte joked with a twinkle in her eye.

Hana stood and followed her back towards their bedroom. It took a little ingenuity for both of them to fit in the shower stall, but Hana thought that they managed to be _very_ efficient, even if the gauge that measured their water use didn’t entirely agree.

Once they’d dried off and Brigitte had tended to the worst of the cuts on Hana’s face, they made an early night of it, silently agreeing that they’d figure out the parts tomorrow.

What else could they do?


	2. Weeds are stubborn. Weeds are independent. Weeds aren’t tolerated.

Brigitte growled curses under her breath in Swedish as she worked to get the transaxle of Hana’s mech unjammed. One of the hits she’d taken in the Scrapyard Qualifier seemed to have busted the synchronizer, and stomping around the arena until the match had finished didn’t help matters. By the time she’d made it back to the hangar, the mech had been dragging itself around on one leg, making Brigitte’s teeth itch with every scrape of armor on concrete.

_If the Queen hadn’t sent her thug to push Hana around, I’d just tear the whole thing out and replace it with a new one. But since she did, well…_

She pushed on the axle from a slightly different angle, and the linkage finally popped free.

“Hah! Finally!”

Brigitte reached for her socket wrench so she could unbolt the housing, but her hand closed on empty air.

“Hana? Did you take my…”

Her words died in her throat as she turned to look, her eyes narrowing as she realized the Queen herself was standing there with a smirk, twirling the socket wrench between her fingers.

“Looks like you’re not doin’ a very good job of keeping track of your tools, Red.” The Queen’s smirk twisted into a sneer. “Ought to be more careful. From what I hear you’d have a hard time replacin’ them right now.”

Part of her wanted to stomp up, snatch the wrench out of the Queen’s hand, and brain her over the head with it, but Brigitte did her best to swallow her anger.

“Where I’m from,” she said with a scowl, “it’s not very nice to touch someone else’s things without asking.”

“This is Junkertown,” the Queen said as she came closer, tapping the wrench against the armored bracer that protected her other wrist. “And that means _everything_ here belongs to me.”

Brigitte met her eyes. “I wouldn’t tell the ‘Hog that.”

To her surprise, that got a little bark of laughter from the Queen. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you Red?”

“Last I checked,” she observed in as mild a voice as she could, “being stupid is a good way to get dead here.”

“Doesn’t hurt you’re a good wrencher,” the Queen said as she held up the tool, waving it lazily in front of her as she talked. “Don’t have as many here as I’d like. You’ve been working in the pits for...three years?”

“Something like that,” Brigitte said with a shrug. She didn’t like to think about how long it had been, honestly. She was pretty sure she’d spent four years on her own, after the accident. She missed her Papa, her mother, her brothers, Papa Reinhardt…

_Stop,_ she told herself gruffly. She could almost hear Reinhardt admonishing her for a slip during training. _Stay focused! There’s no time for this!_

The Queen didn’t comment on her momentary lapse of attention. From the way she was strolling around looking at her scavenged together workshop and tools, maybe she didn’t notice.

“You’ve done good work here. This is almost as good as the setup for my jocks.”

Brigitte ducked her head, appreciating the compliment despite the situation. “Even Wrecking Ball?” From what she’d heard, nobody had ever even _seen_ him outside that weird mech he used. They all just guessed it was a ‘him’ because of that deep, booming vocoder he spoke through.

The Queen actually hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “Ball does his own work. Private shop.” She turned back with a little smile. “Champion’s privilege.”

“Huh.” Brigitte leaned back against the workbench, trying to make sure nothing else had been taken without being too obvious about it. “Surprised you’re telling me that, if I’m honest.”

“Seems like a good way to start talking about why I’m _really_ here,” the Queen observed.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Like I said, you’re clever, but you’re barely scrapin’ by here.” The Queen’s eyes flashed. “Ball may do his own work, but I’ve got plenty of other jocks in my stable. I want the best wrench I can get, which means I want you to come work for me.”

Brigitte’s mouth turned down into a frown. She hadn’t expected that, but… “I can’t help but notice you didn’t mention Hana.”

“That’s because she’s _not_ _invited,”_ the Queen confirmed sharply. “I’ve got enough hotheads who think they can drive in my stable without a bitchy little rust rat.”

It wasn’t that surprising, but it still hurt. “You’d be asking me to leave her behind…”

“Accidents happen,” the Queen said with a cruel little smile. “Seems you’re runnin’ out of repair money. Might miss something important. Maybe she goes in the Scrapper. Maybe she doesn’t leave.”

“That’s _not_ happening,” Brigitte growled as she got up in the Queen’s face. “You said I’m clever. You want to hear what _I_ think this is about?”

The Queen’s eyebrow rose. “Sure.”

“You’ve got plenty of bets on Wrecking Ball,” Brigitte spat back at her. “Maybe _too_ many. So why not get rid of anyone who actually scares you before the Scrapper?” She tossed her head back towards where the torn down ‘Mech waited for them to finish getting it ready to fight. “Maybe Hana is a hothead and a stubborn little diva sometimes, but she’s a _damn good pilot_.” Now it was her turn to smirk at the Queen, who had gone rigid with anger.

“Maybe she’s got a better chance to win than a lot of people think,” she said with quiet conviction. “Maybe that’s why you’re _afraid._ ”

The Queen drew herself up to her full height, and even though Brigitte was not a short woman, she found herself looking up to make eye contact.

“I’m not afraid of _anyone_ in this town,” the Queen hissed back with rage in her eyes. “Junkertown is afraid of _me._ ”

“Then how about a little bet between the two of us?” Brigitte knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t back down now. “Since you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

The anger in the Queen’s eyes had cooled slightly, replaced with a calculating look. “I’m listening.”

“If Hana can’t win a purse? You get what you want - like you said, we probably wouldn’t be able to make rent on the hangar anyway.”

The Queen grunted. “Go on…”

Brigitte smiled. “You came around for rent early, so I think it’s fair that we’re paid up until the next Scrapper, don’t you?”

“That’s _three months_ from now!”

Brigitte just shrugged. “Champion’s privilege, right?”

The Queen gave her a dry look. “Only if you _win_.”

“Fine,” Brigitte said as she held out a hand. “Two months rent free if we place, three if we win...and if we fail to show, I’m yours.”

The Queen tossed the wrench back onto the work table, then spat in her hand before she shook on the bargain with a firm grip. “Deal.” Her smirk was back, her eyes gleaming with anticipation of her victory as she turned to leave. “Looks like I’ll be seein’ you soon, Red.”

Brigitte snorted. “Thanks for finding my wrench, _your Highness._ ”

She didn’t bother listening for the Queen’s parting shot. They had a _lot_ of work to get done, and she’d already let the Queen waste too much of her time.


	3. What attracts us to weeds is not their beauty, but their resilience.

“You promised her _what?”_

Brigitte stopped adjusting the ammo feed to shrug. “It’s not that bad.”

Hana stared, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Not that bad?!” She got between Brigitte and the ‘mech, then reached out to put hands on her broad shoulders. “Babe, you have to take this seriously.”

“I _do_ ,” Brigitte said as she slipped the multitool she’d been using into her pocket. “I promise, Hana, I know what’s on the line.”

“Do you?” Hana frowned as she looked into her eyes. “Because you bet three months of rent against life as a slave.”

Brigitte’s mouth hardened into a frown. “I think slavery is a little harsh.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Hana insisted. “You think the Queen asks you to work a shift or two and lets you go?”

“No,” Brigitte admitted as she looked down. “But I’d get paid for my work.”

“Did she _say_ that?”

Brigitte’s eyes unfocused a bit as she thought back to the conversation. “She...wanted me to come work for her. Said I’d be part of her stable.”

“Sure you would,” Hana nodded, her anger like burning coals in her gut. “You’d work, and she’d give you a place to sleep. Bet you’d have plenty to eat, too. But you’d never get paid. You’d never leave the stable, let alone Junkertown. And you know the Queen…” Hana’s eyes traveled down her girlfriend’s body, thinking of the lean muscles and curves beneath her gear. “Sooner or later, if she wants something? She’ll take it.”

Brigitte’s eyes had widened as she spoke, color draining from her face, but she gave a weak little smile at the last part. “So you’re feeling a little jealous?”

“No!” Hana shouted as she turned and stalked for the door. “I’m feeling scared _shitless_ , and so should you!”

She was pretty sure Brigitte was yelling her name as she stomped out of the hangar, but she didn’t turn around. She really, really needed to hit something, and if she swung at Bri she might hit the ‘mech.

It took Hana a while to find a good outlet. She couldn’t just go into one of the holes and pick a fight in a bar. The Queen would use the excuse to lock her up so she could steal Bri and everything else they had, and she couldn’t risk getting hurt, either, or she’d be right in the same shit.

Her second favorite outlet was working on the ‘mech, so _that_ was out, and if she went home, she was likely to find Brigitte there, and Hana couldn’t handle that. Not in the mood she was in.

It took a bit to reach an unguarded gate on the outer ring of the old omnium, carefully slipping through the wall until she was walking through the scrubby, blasted ground. Hana made sure to give the ‘Hog’s farm a wide berth, just putting one foot in front of the other until she found what she needed.

It had probably been a pretty nice car once. What was left of the body was low slung, with a broad bonnet and lean frame. She thought the scrapes of paint she could see beneath the rust and ruin were blue, or maybe green, but it was pretty hard to tell.

The glass was long gone, and the rubber of the tires had rotted out. Scraps still clung to the torn up wheels, but it was basically a husk now, everything of use stripped off or cut away years ago.

She drew her finger through the air, imagining the missing top and some kind of an interior. Probably pretty nice - maybe something that could have roared across the Outback, hooning around, going anywhere you wanted…

Hana tossed her head sharply with a frustrated hiss, as if she could toss the idea out and dash it on the ground.

The whole thing was a pipe dream. They’d be as likely to sprout wings and fly as to get out of Junkertown, and even if they did, Suits would never let them into a ‘real’ city.

That was the whole point, wasn’t it? The whole reason they were Junkers was they’d been thrown away.

With that unpleasant truth ringing through her head Hana drew the pistol off her hip, tilting it in her hand to check the charge on the power cell before she flipped the safety off.

The first three shots were wild, just squeezing the trigger and hearing the bark of the little pulser as the superheated plasma snapped through the air.

The fourth made a nice satisfying _ping_ as it punched through the car’s front quarter panel, and as Hana ripped off another half dozen she began to calm down and aim more, walking her fire down the door and into what was left of the rear panels in a ragged line that slowly became more evenly spaced.

She finally stopped shooting when the door fell from the hinges with a dull thud as it hit the parched and cracked earth, contrasting the soft pinging sounds coming from the muzzle of the gun as it began to cool.

_Probably have to recharge it off the ‘mech’s engine. If Bri will let me._

She was still scared. She wasn’t a genius like Bri, but she was smart enough to know she _needed_ to be scared. But she wasn’t angry anymore. Not at Brigitte, at least.

As she turned back to start the long walk to town, Hana just hoped that would be enough.

* * *

In the garage, it was obvious where Brigitte had spent her frustration. The ammo feed she’d been tinkering with was back into place, the cannon back in the ready position.

Hana could see where the drivetrain repairs were almost done, and some of the sloping armor plates that the mechanic had pulled off were back into place, some of the dents from the last fight hammered back to true, the gouged plates replaced or filled with patching compound.

When she checked the cockpit, part of her hoped there would be a note or something there, but the only thing she found there were the controls and the cracked brown padding of the old motorbike seat they’d installed for her to rest against.

_Guess I better face the music_ , Hana thought as she turned away with a sigh, locking the hangar door on her way out.

She didn’t drag her feet on the way back to their apartment, but she didn’t hurry, either.

The squeak from the door opening seemed incredibly loud, making Hana wince as she shut it behind her.

“Brigitte? Are you here?”

There was a moment of silence, and Hana had just enough time for her fear to jump up her throat before she got an answer.

“Kitchen.”

There was a funny slur to Brigitte’s voice, and the reason became clear when Hana rounded the corner to see her sitting at the table with a dingy brown bottle in front of her, the cap hanging off the top by a loop of wire.

Hana frowned, her earlier nervousness gone as the situation became clear. “Is that from Basher’s still? I thought you told me that stuff wasn’t even safe to use as paint stripper.”

Brigitte’s eyes were puffy and red under the haze of alcohol, but she was able to sit up and make eye contact without listing over. “Didn’t really care when I swiped it. Just wanted to feel different.”

“Babe…” Hana sat down across from her, reaching out to take the bottle and sniff at it. “ _Whoa._ What’d he make this out of, koala piss?”

That got a snort of amusement out of Brigitte. “I thought it smelled like boiled brake fluid.”

“Either way,” she said as she capped the bottle. “I think that’s enough.”

She’d half expected Bri to argue with her, or try to grab the bottle back like most drunks would. Instead, she let out a long sigh and nodded before putting her head down on her arms. “You’re probably right.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so Hana settled for putting the bottle in the cabinet above their cooktop.

“I get what you were trying to say about the Queen now,” Brigitte mumbled without lifting her head. “I just...I didn’t want to admit I was wrong. How bad I messed everything up.”

“Hey,” Hana said as she sat back down, putting her hand over Brigitte’s. “We’re not scrapped yet.”

“No?” Brigitte raised her head just enough to make eye contact, fresh tears tracking down her face. “You said it yourself, the Queen takes what she wants. Even if it’s people. _Especially_ if it’s people.”

“Yeah,” Hana admitted. “She will. But if we win a purse there’s nothing she can do about it. She can’t blackout the fights - she’d lose too much money. So as long as we keep her from screwing us any more than she already has…”

“Which is a _lot_ ,” Brigitte interrupted with a groan.

“Which is a lot,” Hana grinned despite herself. She’d never really seen Bri drunk, and it was kind of cute in a mopey sort of way. “But hey - we’ll get the ‘mech ready to go, and once we do that, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“So we’re...OK?”

Hana squeezed her hands, knowing Brigitte wasn’t really talking about the mech or the Scrapper.

“Yeah,” she promised her. “We’re OK.”


End file.
